A Christmas Surprise
by Dublinscot
Summary: Rick and Carol plan a surprise for Daryl.
1. Chapter 1

Rick couldn't concentrate on the book he'd been trying to read for the last hour. He was too excited. That and he just wasn't into John Grisham at the moment. He'd have to peruse the town library again to see what else he could find. Marking his place, he closed the volume and placed it on the table next to his chair.

Glancing at his watch—thankful for the supply of watch batteries discovered on the last run—he glanced at the time. Twelve-fifteen in the morning. He felt as if he'd been waiting forever. Maybe it had been long enough. Maybe it was time. He hoped so.

A soft sigh, followed by a quiet inhalation of breath was the only sound on this quiet night. Glancing over to the other side of the room, his gaze took in the sleeping form of his daughter, resting peacefully even as her fingers moved ever so slightly on the soft fur of the pink teddy bear lying next to her. The pink teddy bear Daryl had found on a run. Rick smiled to himself at the memory of the hunter, covered in blood, walker guts, and who knows what else, holding the pristine pink bear out almost timidly as if he was afraid it would be rejected. Of course it was Judith's favorite toy. It was almost as if she knew it was a gift from her Uncle Daryl.

Shaking himself mentally and returning to the present he began thinking about the hours ahead, and the work laid out before him. He felt a giddiness inside, an excitement he hadn't felt in quite some time. Rising from his chair, he padded softly to the doorway where he stopped, listening to the silence beyond. Nothing. That was a good sign. Grasping the doorknob he opened the door as slowly and quietly as he could, wondering all the while if this was what a burglar felt like - breaking and entering as silently as possible in an effort not to disturb the inhabitants of the house.

With the door half open, Rick peered down the darkness of the hall. All doors were firmly closed, with only silence behind them. Beyond Daryl's door he could hear the faintest sounds of slumber, heavy breathing, an occasional snore. That was a good sign. He and Carol had done their best to wear the hunter out—double shifts on watch, a morning run to a neighboring community, work around Alexandria itself. It had been obvious that Daryl hadn't wanted to spend his afternoon helping Mrs. Niedermeyer clean her garage, but as usual, he did what was asked of him. No complaints. Their goal was to exhaust the man and judging by the soft sounds coming from his room, it sounded like their plan had worked. Success!

It was time to proceed. He mentally rubbed his hands together in excitement and expectation. The giddiness he felt carried him onward, although he told himself firmly that as a former deputy and current constable, he did not experience giddiness, but merely extreme enthusiasm.

Making his way to the next door he stopped just outside, hesitant to knock and awaken anyone other than Carol. As he stood still, contemplating his next move, the door opened and the Rick found himself face to face with the object of his thoughts — Carol.

The woman had a huge grin plastered across his face, evidence of her own excitement and anticipation of the hours to come.

"He's finally asleep," Carol whispered her quiet voice. "I thought he'd never drop-off. I could hear him tossing and turning all the way over here. He was as excited as a kid on, well, Christmas Eve." Carol laughed quietly at her play on words and Rick found himself returning the chuckle.

Although he would never tell her, Rick was laughing as much at the evidence of Carol's obvious exhilaration as he was at Daryl's wonderment and hope of what was to - hopefully - come. Of course, the hunter would never admit it to anyone, but he was excited. Well, he and Carol would make sure that their friend's expectations were met, met beyond his wildest dreams.

Thinking back to the conversation that led to this moment, he felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Time had lost much of its meaning to Rick and his group. Survival was what was important and what did it matter if it was October 10th or 11th? Holidays had been swept to the wayside in favor of focusing on just making it to the next day. Now, however, things were different.

Here in Alexandria, life went on much as it had before. The inhabitants knew that it was October 10th and not the 11th. And they marked the days off until the holidays arrived. Here, holidays were things to be celebrated. A way of commemorating the fact that they had made it this far in the terrifying new world in which they found themselves. And tomorrow, according to the people of Alexandria, was Christmas. Well, today, considering it was after midnight.

Relaxing together just a week ago, the conversation had moved to the upcoming holiday. Carl and some of the others had been enthusiastic, barely able to contain their excitement at the thought of celebrating Christmas once again. At the thought of bringing some sense of normality and the familiar back into their lives. Abe and some of the others, however, were still a bit skeptical.

"Don't forget what's going on now," the former soldier had barked. "Just because we're here now doesn't mean we're safe. Those things are still out there. The world as we knew it is gone and we can't let down our guard!"

"I know that," Carl had replied. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun!"

Rick, himself, had intervened before the conversation had a chance to grow more heated.

"Look, we all know nothing has really changed. You're right, Abe, it's still a dangerous world and we need to be on our guard. But you're right too, Carl. We can still have fun and maybe try to enjoy some of the things we used to enjoy."

This exchange had led into reminiscences about Christmases past with everyone sharing their favorite gifts, dinners, and traditions. Rick remembered recounting the first Christmas Carl had been old enough to understand who Santa Claus was. Just recalling the wonder in the three year old's eyes and voice as he came down the stairs and saw the tree and presents was enough to make him smile now.

But his smile vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared as he recalled Daryl's response. The normally confident hunter had sat there looking like a laboratory specimen as all eyes turned to him, waiting for him to share his favorite Christmas memory.

When none was forthcoming, Maggie tried to prod him.

"Come on, Daryl. It's your turn. What do you remember most? What was your favorite Christmas?"

The man turned his gaze to her for just a moment, before looking over at Rick, seemingly pleading silently with him for assistance. Rick just smiled and shrugged at him, waiting for the other man to speak.

Finally, after several moments of silence, the hunter spoke, his voice so soft it was difficult to hear the words.

"Never really celebrated Christmas before."


	2. Chapter 2

All eyes focused on Daryl once he'd made his quiet pronouncement. Glancing around the room, Rick got the impression that none of them could fathom the idea of someone—one of their own—never having celebrated Christmas. Come to think of it, Rick found it a bit disconcerting himself.

It was at that moment, seeing the look of embarrassment mixed with sadness on his friend's face, that Rick's course of action was decided. He didn't want to ever see that look in Daryl's eyes again. Looking across the room, he locked eyes with Carol and he knew…she felt it too. She was in! Together, they were going to ensure that Daryl's first Christmas would be one to remember.

Rick remembered the silence following the quiet pronouncement. Nobody had known quite what to say. Finally, the suddenly uncomfortable silence had been interrupted by Glenn's quiet voice.

"It's alright, Daryl. It's not always that big a deal. And besides, now you have it to look forward to!"

Rick had shot Glenn a look of thanks, thanks for stepping in and smoothing the situation over. He'd noticed some of the embarrassment leave Daryl's features, even as he ducked his head, allowing his hair to hang in front of his eyes in a familiar move, effectively shielding him from those around him. Across the room, Glenn had given Rick a quick smile and shrugged his shoulders slightly as if to say 'I tried!'

Now, a week later, Rick was putting his plan into action. He and Carol had enlisted the help of some of the others over the past week and it had paid off. Where their celebration was originally going to consist of a small, table-top tree—a stick with some spindly branches, really—the constable had sent Abraham and Rosita out to find an actual tree.

They had returned with not only a tree, and a beautiful one at that, but actual Christmas wrapping paper and some lights. Evidently those things weren't highly sought after in an apocalypse. Lucky for them! Jessie had been happy to store their haul in her garage until needed, lessening the chance of Daryl catching on to what was going on.

Carol had explored the attic of not just their house but the neighbors' also, and come up with several boxes of ornaments as well as a large Rubbermaid container filled with strands of lights and a train to go under the tree.

Glenn and Maggie had spent their evenings making stockings for everyone. Granted, they weren't the traditional "Santa" stockings. Rather, they were large socks with various fabric scraps glued on to form each person's name. Even Daryl's. Especially Daryl's. Rick was sure he was imagining it, but it really seemed as if Daryl's stocking was just a tad larger and brighter than everyone else's. Not to mention the fact that his was the only stocking with extra glitter surrounding the name.

They had all, as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, spent the last week gathering gifts—on runs and around Alexandria. Rick, himself, was extremely excited about the supplies he'd found—supplies that would enable Daryl to make more bolts. Even more exhilarating was the piece de resistance—a gift that Rick hoped would be accepted by Daryl and treasured.

Shaking himself out of his reverie and trying to come back to the present, Rick shot a glance at his companion, who had remained silent as he lost himself in his thoughts. Now, she stood watching him quietly, waiting for his command. Beckoning her with a wave of his hand and a finger to his lips, the former sheriff turned to head towards the stairs.

"Come on, Carol. We've got work to do."

The two conspirators fairly bounced down the staircase, totally oblivious to the fact that they carried the demeanor of two excited school children about to embark on a secret escapade.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Rick and Carol crept as quietly as possible to the living room. Moving quickly, they entered the room and looked around. Once inside, they stopped to relish the silence and solitude of the room, lit only by the dimly flickering fire in the fireplace. But, Rick told himself, there was no time for this.

There was work to be done. Turning to Carol, he laid out the plan. If they stuck to the schedule he'd outlined, they'd just have time to finish everything before the rest of the family, and especially Daryl, awoke.

Looking into his companion's bright blue, excited, eyes, Rick gave the word.

"Come on, Carol. Let's get to work."

"Aye, aye, Captain. Let's get to work," Carol echoed, giving a mock salute while trying to keep both feet planted firmly on the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Soaking in the peace and serenity of the moment, Rick smiled, noticing the similar expression on his companion's face. The silence was palpable, everyone else asleep in their beds upstairs, all of them eager to see what the morning would bring.

He and Carol had made quick work of scurrying out into the night to raid their neighbors' garages of the tree and other supplies being stored there. Decorating the tree had been an exercise in enjoyment as Rick allowed his mind to wander to Christmases past when he had decorated  
trees in a similar manner.

Now, looking at the tree rising proudly to the ceiling, Rick saw the lights twinkling softly, casting a soft radiance on the walls and ceiling. The gold star at the top shone brightly, the sparkle from the lights and the fireplace giving it an almost iridescent glow, the decorations, many made in secret by Carl, Carol and the others over the last several days, covering the branches in love.

Shaking his head softly, he took in the beauty of the tree, of the room, the fire in the fireplace casting its soft, warm glow over everything, giving it almost a magical quality. The packages beneath the tree were all wrapped neatly, their bright paper and bows beckoning and enticing. Everything looked just right - perfect.

Yes, he thought with some amazement. We did it. We were able to pull it off! It was hard work, but we did it. And no one is the wiser.

Looking over at his companion he smiled.

"What do you think?" he asked, waving his hand to take in the quiet beauty of the room.

With a wide smile on her face, Carol replied.

"I think it's beautiful and I think he's going to love it. Everyone will love it."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"Rick, we need this. All of us."

Nodding in agreement Rick continued to smile as he looked around to make sure everything that needed to be done was done. No stone unturned as the saying went.

"You're right, Carol. We do."

He and Carol had worked furiously these past hours, single-minded in their purpose-to give their friend a memorable Christmas with his family. And perhaps more importantly, to give the quiet man something he'd clung to for years-the vision of a perfect Christmas and his faith in the dream of Christmas. Santa Claus.

Something - someone - the rest of them had taken for granted in their earlier years, but whose presence Daryl had never had the luxury of experiencing. Regardless of whether the great man was real or not, Rick and Carol wanted their friend to experience his magic.

Daryl had revealed though, that emotional evening when his lack of Christmas experiences was discovered, how a teacher had once  
told him to never give up on his hope or on his dreams. Reflecting on that conversation, Rick sighed, almost hearing his friend's soft voice as he  
recounted his painful childhood memory, still somewhat shocked that the quiet man had shared anything from his difficult past, let alone so much information at once.

"Yeah, it was the first day back to school after Christmas and everyone was talking about their holiday and what Santa had brought. I was in the second grade. Mrs. Griggs, our teacher, went around the room and we each had to tell what Santa brought. Or our favorite gift at least. I didn't know what to say when she got to me. I didn't really say anything, just kind of shrugged and hoped she'd move on. I remember the other kids laughing at me…they knew who my family was. Mrs. Griggs moved on to the next kid. When class was over she told me to stay and I thought I was in trouble, but I wasn't. She just wanted to talk to me. Told me she realized I hadn't had a Christmas and that she was sorry. I remember telling her it didn't matter, weren't no such thing as Santa anyway and Christmas was just another day of the year. Then she leaned down and looked me right in the eyes and told me to keep dreaming. She said, 'Daryl, if you have a dream you need to cling to it. Don't let others tell you it can't happen. If you believe in it hard enough it will come true, even if it takes years.' I knew there weren't no such person as Santa Claus, but it was nice to think about the possibility of havin' what the others had—just once."

Stopping suddenly, Daryl seemed to realize that all eyes were on him. Quite unlike himself, he'd been so lost in his story of the past that, for a few moments, the present had faded as his characteristic silence gave way to the telling of his tale. Realizing what he had shared, though, Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment, his eyes suddenly drawn to his mud-splattered boots.

Rick, however, had been thrilled with the small glimpse into his friend's past, unhappy though it might be. At the same time his heart twisted just a little in sorrow for his friend who had never experienced the happy occasions of a normal childhood. Silently thanking the faceless Mrs. Griggs for her wisdom and encouragement, Rick had felt a wave of compassion for the quiet man sitting across from him. Compassion for all the things he had never experienced, as well as for the dream he'd kept alive, even throughout all his recent experiences. The dream that maybe one day he, too, could experience Christmas. That was something the man evidently took to heart, even though he was reluctant to admit it.

Amazingly, even with all the hardships and suffering the man had endured, his faith had emerged unscathed. From what little he had said about his past - what they knew had come in dribbles - Rick was astonished that he had any faith left at all - faith in anything or anyone. But Daryl was strong, in both body and belief. His conviction remained untouched. One of those convictions was his belief in the miracle of Christmas — for everyone. For Rick, Santa Claus was part of that miracle. Unfortunately, the old man, over the past years, hadn't necessarily done a great deal to earn that confidence from Daryl. Nevertheless, though, Daryl had always clung to the notion that someday he might experience what others had known throughout the years. Granted, that notion had been pushed to the back of his mind since the beginning of the apocalypse.

Survival was what was important now. But Rick wanted to show Daryl that the spirit of the great man still existed and that he had not been  
forgotten. He wanted to give Daryl the Christmas he never had.

Now, a week later, Rick shook his head in amazement as he thought about his friend and how incongruous his simple faith in Christmas was with his harsh exterior. Oh Daryl had admitted that he was probably wrong and that as a child he'd most likely been foolish to ever believe someone like Santa could be real and that his dream of a perfect Christmas was folly, especially considering the state of the world today and the difficult task of just surviving. But to Rick and Carol, who knew him so well, it was obvious that beneath the words of denial lay a last sliver of hope. Hope that there could still be some magic and goodness in this new and terrifying world—magic and goodness he had yet to experience.  
When Rick thought about his friend's past life, he found it amazing that this seemingly rough and tough redneck had survived with any faith whatsoever intact.

How could someone who had only known pain and anger and betrayal — someone who had never really known what true family was until the world as they knew it came to an end — retain that purity of belief? It was incomprehensible to Rick. But he was very happy that belief was still there, however faint it might be.

Now, this year, their first in the Alexandria safe zone, his friends wanted to make sure that visit became a reality. Standing back and surveying the gifts beneath the tree, Rick realized with a smile that Daryl's greatly outnumbered the rest of the family's. He doubted seriously, though, that anyone would mind. Plotting and planning for the past week, they all had the same goal-to make Daryl's first Christmas a happy and memorable one. With that end in mind, their entire 'family' had pitched in, making gifts, finding them on runs and around Alexandria, and even resorting to bartering with some of the Alexandrians for items.

Amazingly, when the reason behind the sudden need for various items was revealed, the Alexandrians were more than willing to help. They were  
excited to contribute, some even offering items for free, just to be a part of the project.

And his own people. Rick couldn't be prouder. All of them wanted to participate and each one of them was just excited as he was. Their only goal was to create the perfect holiday for their friend, and in doing so make his life—and all of theirs—a little brighter. Jumping onboard, each and every one of them had been more than happy to do whatever they could to make this day a success.

They had all come through. Scanning the brightly colored packages of all shapes and sizes, Rick shook his head in wonderment. Who knew that Christmas wrapping paper would be so plentiful in the apocalypse? Evidently, it wasn't high on the list of 'must have's' at the end of the world. The gaily wrapped presents perfectly complimented the tree and its decorations. And while it was true that Daryl's gifts outnumbered everyone else's, there were still presents for everyone in their family. Rick's gaze alighted on the labels written in the neatest of script —To Daryl, From Santa.

Smiling with affection, Rick reflected again on how thankful he was for their new life behind these walls. They were still together and, at least for the time being, they were safe. That was much more than they'd had just three months ago.

Yes, they were all — well most of them — beginning to acclimate to their new lives here in Alexandria. But that didn't mean they had lost the connection that held them together. They had survived so much out there on the road and that was a tie that would forever bind them together. They were, for all intents and purposes, a family. For the first time in a long time, Rick realized that he was happy — truly happy. He was also eagerly anticipating what was to come in a few hours.

Looking over to Carol, Rick smiled with a sense of satisfaction, throwing an arm around her slim shoulders.

"Well, Carol. I think our work is complete."

"I do think you're right, Rick. Look at all of this. I can't believe it! I think this is actually going to work!"

Nodding his head, Rick agreed quietly. Stifling a yawn, he realized that he was tired and that it was getting late. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was after five o'clock.

"We'd best get up to our rooms and pretend to be asleep. Can't have Daryl catching any of Santa's elves, now can we?"

His answer was a devilish gleam in the sparkling blue eyes of his companion, coupled with a huge grin and a shake of her head.

"No, Rick. That just wouldn't be good. Let's go to bed. If we're lucky, we might get an hour's sleep before the kiddies come bounding down the stairs to see if Santa's come."

Carol chuckled at her own joke, observing the smile that stayed on Rick's lips as well, both of them envisioning the smiles upon the faces of not just Daryl, but Carl and Judith and all of the others. Rick knew that for a short time they would be able to put the brutality of their existence aside and focus on something good. Focus on something normal, something that had always been a part of most of their lives and which they had taken for granted. Now, in this harsh new world, nothing was taken for granted anymore.

Casting his gaze upon his companion, Rick smiled at the happy expression on Carol's face. He knew, of course, that it matched his own. Yes, things were definitely looking up!

Shaking his head in affection, Rick turned to lead the way to the stairs, guiding the still chuckling woman as he went. The two exited the living room as quietly as possible. As they made their way towards the stairs and began their ascent, they were each lost in their thoughts of what the morning would bring. Happiness, to be sure, and hopefully, the knowledge that faith and dreams were things to hold tight to one's heart. The knowledge that faith and dreams could become a reality, even in this terrifying and depressing new world.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Rick gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze before dropping his arm to his side.

Giving her companion a huge grin, Carol dipped her head.

"Good night, Rick. This has been a good night. A Christmas Eve to remember." Her voice was so low Rick had to strain to hear the words. He could see the bittersweet expression on her face, caused no doubt by reminiscences of Christmas past with Sophia, now gone.

Rick nodded and replied softly. "Yes, it surely has. And now it's Christmas. As you said, we'd best go pretend to be asleep. Good night, Carol."

With that, both friends entered their rooms, closing the doors softly, awaiting the happiness that was to come.


	4. Chapter 4

Opening his eyes slowly, Daryl lay silent and still, soaking in the peaceful silence of the house. A cool draft swept through the room, causing him to pull his quilt more tightly around his shoulders. A quick glance at the shaded window told him that it was still early-very early. The sun had not yet risen. Sighing deeply, he snuggled deeper into the bedclothes and pondered his next actions.

Was it too early? What would happen if he rose now and went downstairs? Would the rest of the family be angry with him? Had HE come? Well, maybe not "HE" but Christmas? Had Christmas come? He hadn't heard anything, but then again, after tossing and turning in excitement for nearly three hours, he had finally fallen into an exhausted slumber, helped along by his numerous activities the day before. Even as he had slept, though, his mind was awhirl with magical dreams of what was to come.

Deciding to chance a quick look, Daryl threw back his bedcovers and sat up, bracing himself against the coolness of the room. After living his entire life in Georgia, he was struggling to acclimate himself to the colder weather here in northern Virginia. Perched on the side of his bed, his feet searched the cold floor for his boot. Finally found and donned, Daryl sighed in contentment as the warmness spread through his feet. Reaching down to the end of his bed, his hand searched for his robe in the still-near darkness. Finding the heavy flannel robe, he pulled it towards him and stood, surrounding his body with its toasty warmness and smiling wryly to himself at the fact that he was wearing a flannel robe! It had become his secret guilty pleasure, the soft, warm material encasing him in its folds something to look forward to after a tiring day of killing walkers.

Standing silent and still for a moment he gazed at the wall in front of him as he pondered his current situation. Never in a million years would he have ever imagined himself in house like this. Hell, he had never even been in a neighborhood like this! And now he was living in one, robe and all. Laughing quietly to himself as he pulled the robe tightly around himself, he remembered the day Rick returned from a run with the robe and slippers, handing them over to him with that little half smile of his, as if he knew damn well what his friend's reaction to the items was going to be, but hoping against hope he'd accept them anyway. And accept them Daryl did, with no intention of ever using them.

But then the weather had turned cold, much colder than the Georgia weather he was used to. And the night came when all his clothes were either dirty or in the wash, thanks to Carol. Cursing under his breath as he stalked through the house, he'd realized that he had no choice but to wear the robe. Well, either that or walk around half naked and he certainly had no intention of doing that! So wear it he did. And in doing so he realized that he had never worn anything quite so comfortable. He loved the feeling of the warm softness against his skin, though he'd never admit that to anyone. Now, two months later, it was habit to throw it on when rising from bed. Just the robe, though. No matter what, he wouldn't wear the slippers!

Stepping softly, Daryl padded towards the door, stopping only to tie the sash on his robe and pull it even closer around himself. Reaching the door, he turned the knob slowly, pulling it open and praying it wouldn't creak or give off any other accompanying sound which might give him away. Opening it all the way, he stopped on the threshold and listened. Night sounds, that's all he heard. The deep rumble and occasional sputter from behind Rick's door, a sure sign that his friend was sleeping deeply. The occasional sigh from Judith. Elsewhere, silence.

Glancing down the hall, which suddenly seemed very long, Daryl poised a toe over the threshold and waited. No, nothing. No one knew he was up. He could do this. Just one quick look and then back to bed. No one would ever know.

A rush of excitement swept through his body, such as he could never remember experiencing. His broad grin was seen by no one, but that didn't stop him from keeping it plastered across his face.

Tiptoeing silently down the empty hallway, Daryl stopped periodically to make sure no one was awakening. He didn't want to hear Rick's comments about what he was doing. Or Carol's, for that matter, though he knew that any comments would be made with affection. But still, he wanted to avoid any possible discussion regarding his current actions. Most of all, though, he didn't want to appear foolish in front of his friends.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused yet again, looking down and seeing the warm glow emanating from below. Dare he continue? He judged it to be only 6:00 or so, and knew the rest of his group wouldn't be up for hours yet. But he was so eager at the moment, that he couldn't stop himself. He moved forward. Silently and softly, one step at a time, Daryl was thankful for the years of hunting and tracking which had trained him to tread silently and slowly. Smiling softly, he continued to make his way down the stairs. Reaching the bottom he stopped, heart in his throat and breath caught in his chest.

His thoughts were racing. Part of him felt that he was being very foolish, childish even. Skulking around the dark, cold house while his friends slept upstairs. And all for what? The other part of him could answer that. It was all to satisfy his curiosity over a question that had long been unanswered in his mind. A question that should have been answered in his childhood, but had not.

Even when he was young, all those hard years growing up poor in north Georgia, he had refused to give up his faith in this one thing. Even when evidence to the contrary seemed to point straight to the fact that he was wrong, he refused to give up his belief, so strong and pure was it. After all, the other kids had school always returned from Christmas break excited and eager to share what Santa had brought. And his father and Merle's taunts that even Santa Claus wanted nothing to do with the Dixons kind of made sense to him, but he refused to believe they were true. After all, wasn't Christmas for everyone? Was it exclusive only to certain people?

Even through later years of hardship, he'd clung to the notion that this idea of his was true, even if he wasn't seeing the results. The idea of Santa did, indeed, exist. Christmas was for everyone. He just knew, deep inside, that some day he would get to experience Christmas just like other people. Just like the other kids he'd gone to school with all those years ago. His time had not yet come. And now. Well, now was that time. His time. He hoped. Would that faith that he'd nourished for so many years be crushed? Or would it blossom and bloom? He was about to find out.

He stared ahead, at the living room. A soft, welcoming radiance beckoned him from the room. He moved forward slowly, his insides tumbling in nervousness. Reaching the threshold to the room, he stopped again, taking a deep breath before continuing onward, clamping his eyes shut tightly.

 _Well_ , he thought. _It's now or never._

Holding his breath, he opened his eyes slowly, and found his breath taken away. There, in front of him, was the picture he'd carried in his mind for all of his years. The picture he'd refused to relinquish, even when it seemed obvious that he was wrong. Feeling sudden tears creeping up at the nearness of it all, Daryl took a deep, ragged breath, running his shaking hand across his eyes.

It was true! All of it! He'd known it! He'd just known it was true! Mrs. Griggs was right-never give up on your beliefs-or your dreams. A flood of warm feelings swept through his body, and he reveled in them. Sweeping his eyes across the dimly-lit room, he took in every detail. The warm fire in the fireplace. The tree, beautiful and tall. Everything he had imagined for so many years.

Looking at the tree, soaring majestically above him, he saw the clip-on candle lights flickering softly. The gold star at the top shone brightly, the twinkling lights and the fireplace giving it an almost iridescent glow. The decorations, many handmade, covering the branches in love.

Shaking his head softly, he took in the beauty of the tree, of the room, the fire in the fireplace casting its soft, warm glow over everything, giving it almost a magical quality. It had to be true. There hadn't even been a tree when he'd gone to bed. No decorations, no candles in the windows. No stockings hanging from the mantle. And now…now, it was indescribably beautiful.

Moving his gaze lower, he caught his breath as he took in the jumble of brightly wrapped boxes lying hidden under the branches of the tree. Stepping forward hesitantly, he knelt in front of the tree and touched the bright red paper of one almost reverently. He saw his name. In fact, a quick glance at the presents lining the floor told him that there were many more for him.

Eyes wide with awe, and mindless of the tears now falling, Daryl Dixon rose and backed away from the tree, drinking in the beauty of the scene once more. His teacher had been right when she'd said that he should never give up on his hope or on his dreams. That hope and faith he'd carried with him for years, buried deep inside, now became a certainty. "He" was real. "He" did exist.

Oh, he knew that Santa the man wasn't real. He wasn't that gullible. But for years he'd clung to the belief that the idea of Santa existed and that Christmas itself was a magical season. After all, he'd spent years observing others enjoying the wonderful and happy time. He'd just refused to give up his belief that maybe one day he, Daryl Dixon, could be part of it all, even if only for a moment. He just wanted to know the feeling of being enveloped in the love and warmth, the caring and the happiness of the holiday.

Certain of that knowledge, and happy in knowing it, Daryl wiped his eyes once again and grinned widely. With a last, lingering look, he turned and exited the room, not wanting anyone to know he'd been down here.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached his room quickly and pushed the still open door open wider. Closing it behind him softly, he removed his robe and laid it on the end of his bed once more. Toeing his boots off, he dove under the waiting covers, pulling them tight. Closing his eyes tightly, unaware that he was still grinning widely, Daryl slipped into a peaceful slumber, visions of gaily wrapped packages and softly flickering candles and stars filling his dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

Seeing the door to his friend's room close behind him, Rick smiled from where he stood at his own partially open door. In his excitement and happiness, Daryl, usually ultra-observant, hadn't noticed that he was being watched. In fact, Daryl hadn't even been aware of the fact that his two friends had followed him quietly and observed his discovery in the living room, had observed the reverence and then excitement of what he'd found—testimony to his state of mind at the moment, as he focused on the day ahead and the excitement to come.

Looking across the hall to Carol's slightly open door, Rick caught the pleasure and contentment in her expression. Carol was smiling broadly. Rick nodded at her, a smile on his own face, as he closed his door quietly and made his way back to bed.

Yes, he thought to himself. A Christmas Eve without sleep was well worth it to see the expression on Daryl's face.

Then, murmuring quietly to the empty room, "Yes, Daryl, there is a Santa Claus!"

His first awareness was the quiet—all was still, silent, and serene. Soaking in the warmth of his bed, covers pulled tightly around him, Daryl allowed himself to lie silent and still, his hunter's senses attuned, as always, to his surroundings. His senses were telling him that it was still very early and that he was most likely the first in the house to awaken. Smiling ruefully to himself he allowed his thoughts to wander for a moment as he marveled at the fact that he actually felt wide awake. Considering the fact that he only got an hour or so of sleep at the most, he thought he was doing pretty well and that his mind was fairly sharp. Lying quietly, he replayed the previous hours in his memory, reflecting on what awaited him and the others downstairs. Smiling to himself, he admitted to himself that he was excited. Perhaps more excited than he'd ever been in his life.

He recognized that part of his enthusiasm had to do with the fact that this was, in reality, his very first Christmas, and a small part of him cringed in embarrassment at that fact, though he did his best to push it down. He realized something, too. While he'd spent years listening to others describe their wonderful Christmas experiences, the fact that he'd never been able to share in the holiday himself meant that now he didn't quite know what to expect or what was expected of him. What did one do on Christmas morning? More importantly at the moment, what should he do? Was there a protocol to this thing? Should he just get up and go downstairs? Or should he wait until someone else woke up and went down first? Maybe he should wait until Carl and Judith were up so that he could go down after them. They were the kids after all and he didn't want to appear too eager. Of course, he was eager and he wanted to get this show on the road so to speak. He wanted to experience his first Christmas, presents and all. At the same time, though, he wanted to make it last as long as possible so that he could enjoy the experience for the entire day.

As he lay ruminating on the proper etiquette and sequence of events for Christmas morning, he heard a door open quietly, followed by soft footsteps treading down the hall and then down the stairs. A quiet gurgle and 'ga ga' followed by shushing from a newly deepening voice informed Daryl that it was Carl and Judith heading down to start the day. Did that mean it was time? Should he get up? Rolling from his side to his back, he pulled the covers tight again, but brought his right thumb up to his mouth, chewing the cuticle absently as he thought over his options.

He could lie here and wait for someone to come get him or he could get up and go down to join Carl and Judith, with the hope that the others would join them shortly. If he waited, though, how long would he actually have to wait? And if he joined Carl and Judith wouldn't they have to wait as well for the others to join them? Wouldn't it be rude to start without the others? Realizing his thoughts were starting to run together as he felt a sense of stress rising inside, Daryl pondered his options and recognized the fact that Christmas was pretty complicated. If only he knew what to do!

A sharp pain near his thumb forced him to remove it from his mouth and he realized that he'd not only gnawed the cuticle clean off but had started in on his nail itself, leaving it jagged and uneven. Dropping his hand to the bed beside him he took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and quell the rising panic inside—panic at the unfamiliarity of what was about to happen and his inexperience with the celebration. As he lay there the reality of the situation came crashing down on him. Forget worrying about when to get up or who should get up first. The reality was that once he was up he knew nothing about what was expected of him. He was going to make a fool of himself and in doing so he was going to disappoint his friends who had worked so hard on his behalf!

Maybe it would be better if he just forgot the whole thing. He was a Dixon, after all, and a lifetime of lessons ingrained in him by his pa and Merle began to push their way to the forefront of his mind. Dixons didn't do Christmas! Didn't need it. Christmas was for pussies who had nothing better to do than waste time with a senseless holiday. Isn't that what he'd been told his entire life? Maybe they were right. He should stick to what he knew, which was hunting and tracking. After all, the game wasn't going to shoot itself.

Even as he considered skipping out, though, Daryl felt a little piece of his heart breaking. He wanted to stay and experience his first Christmas. And he was warmed beyond measure by the fact that his friends thought enough of him to give it to him—to go to the trouble of creating what looked to be the perfect holiday—just for him. But his desire to experience the day warred with his father and brother's harsh words. The logical part of his mind told him that they were wrong. That had been proven many, many times over the past year. Stepping out from his family's dark shadow, he saw that his pa and Merle had been wrong about many things. His 'family', for instance. Contrary to what the elder Dixons would have thought, they were good people. People who had earned his trust and who trusted him in return. People he would die for and, he knew, who would die for him. He knew this, so why was he even questioning the situation?

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Even though Daryl knew that he had changed over the course of the past year. Even though he was accepted fully by his friends—accepted just as he was—there was still that little part of him that couldn't—or wouldn't—allow himself to believe that he was worthy of that acceptance. Worthy of that friendship. No matter how much he proved himself or how many times his friends reassured him of his place in their hearts and lives, Daryl still felt unworthy. He was still that outcast little boy that no one wanted to befriend—or even be near—because of the stigma of the last name he carried. Growing up with the belief that he was less than those around him had impressed upon him the idea that he truly wasn't worthy. And that knowledge, right now, caused him to moan quietly at the reality of his situation.

Inhaling sharply, Daryl felt his heart beginning to hammer in his chest, even as he suddenly found it hard to breathe. Thoughts racing and his mind a maelstrom of panicked thoughts and possible scenarios of what was to come, he closed his eyes and attempted to concentrate on his body. Tried to regain control of it once more. What was wrong with him? The panicked thought raced through his too-full mind as he inhaled deeply and tried to regulate his breathing once again.

After several minutes of deep, slow inhalations—in through the nose, out through the mouth—Daryl felt his heartbeat begin to slow, even as his breathing started to even out. In and out. He could do this. He would do this. He wanted to do this. Attempting to put his self-loathing aside, Daryl took another deep breath and decided what to do.  
But then, before he had a chance to do anything, he heard the quiet sound of a door opening. Soft footsteps treading quietly down the hall to the landing. Then a whispered "Carl? You down there?"

Rick! He was up! What did that mean? Daryl's thoughts raced, bumping into each other in their panicked flight through his overextended brain. He was up. So what was he supposed to do? What did that mean for him? Listening carefully, he heard the muted reply drift up from downstairs.

"Yeah, dad. I've got Judith."

Inhaling deeply, Daryl found himself warring with dread and excitement. He wanted to get up and go down to join Carl and Judith, but he was afraid. He, the mighty hunter, was afraid to get out of bed and head downstairs, simply because he had no idea what was expected of him. Maybe his pa and Merle were right. He was a pussy. Just not for the reasons they assumed. He could track and hunt better than anyone he'd ever known. He could admit that to himself. He could face a horde of walkers without showing fear. He could even stand up to and face off with other people—human beings—who threatened him or his 'family'. But pa and Merle were right. He was a pussy. Not because he wanted to celebrate and experience Christmas, but because was afraid to do so.

Inhaling sharply, Daryl admitted the ugly truth to himself—he was a coward who didn't deserve the friends he had or the wonderful surprise they had planned for him. Who was he kidding? He was Daryl Dixon! And Dixons didn't do Christmas. Simple as that. His self-deprecating thoughts began to rise and swirl around in his mind again even as his stomach began to churn. Daryl realized he was losing control and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

The realization that he was so unworthy of this holiday inundated him with a sense of profound loss and sadness. But how could he lose something he never had? It didn't make sense. Realizing he was once again losing control of his breathing, Daryl struggled to regain that control. Struggled to slow his breathing to something more manageable. In and out, slow and steady.

Daryl was so caught up in his negative thoughts that he didn't hear the footsteps padding softly down the hall once again. Didn't hear them stop outside his door. And he certainly didn't hear the soft rapping on his door.

"Daryl, are you awake?"


	6. Chapter 6

He was drowning in negative emotions, unable to subdue the maelstrom of negativity swirling through his mind and down into his very core. The emotions coursing through him were so intense that he felt completely powerless, frozen, hardly able to breathe and certainly not able to focus on the soft knock at his door.

A long-suppressed memory made its way to the surface, and all of a sudden he was six years old again. Breathing heavily, he lay there remembering that day so long ago. The day he'd had a brief moment of happiness and was just like any other kid. Until it had all come crashing down. As usual. It had started like any other day. Go to school. Sit by himself. Don't talk to anybody. Go home. Until…

 _For the first time in his short life he'd been invited to another child's house. Robert Douglas was the new kid in town. He'd only been in school for two days, not long enough to know he shouldn't hang around Daryl Dixon. Instead, he'd talked to the shy boy sitting next to him in class and on his second day invited him to come home and play with him after school._

 _Taken aback, never having had an invitation to go anywhere before, let alone to another child's house, Daryl didn't know what to say. Robert took his silence as an affirmative and before he knew it Daryl found himself standing in a house that looked like a mansion to him. Afraid of touching anything for fear of tainting it, he stood still and silent, unsure of what was expected of him. Oblivious, his new friend continued the chattering he'd been carrying on non-stop ever since leaving the school, seemingly not noticing that his companion had yet to say a word._

 _Eventually, Daryl began to relax and let his guard down and finally, he found himself sitting on a bedroom floor next to his (dare he even think it?) new friend trying to figure out what to do with the Hot Wheels and toy soldiers sitting in front of him. Never having had any toys of his own, he had no basis for playing with items such as these. After watching the other boy through his shaggy bangs, he reached out hesitantly to pick up a small blue car. And that's when it happened._

 _The bedroom door flew open, startling both boys, Daryl more so than the other. Looking up from his position on Robert's bedroom floor, Daryl flinched almost imperceptibly at the angry-looking teenager standing in the doorway, dark gaze focused directly on him. Not sure what was going on, he glanced over at the other boy, only to see that he was continuing to play with his toy cars, seemingly oblivious to the young man standing in the doorway, glowering at his guest._

 _Unsure of what to do, Daryl's thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what was going on and what was expected of him in this situation. Before his thoughts could go too far, though, the young man spoke, his voice rising with a combination of fury and hatred. But at what?_

" _I had to see it with my own eyes. And boy did I. I didn't believe the others when they told me, but they were right."_

 _Looking up in confusion, Robert's brows knitted together as he tried to sort out what his older brother was getting at. But Daryl knew. Stomach sinking, he knew instinctively what was going on. He was, after all, a Dixon, and as such he shouldn't be here. This knowledge was confirmed by the teenager's next words._

" _Bobby, what is he doing here?" Glancing through the shield of his hair, Daryl saw a trembling finger pointing right at him, like a spear aimed at its prey._

 _Sitting quietly, unsure and afraid, Daryl had no idea what to do. His dilemma was solved by his friend's brother's next words, his friend who was looking back and forth between the two in confusion._

" _Don't you know who he is? He's a Dixon! You have no business being anywhere near him and you sure shouldn't be bringing him home! He and his whole family are white trash. Everyone knows it." The older boy spat out the words, seemingly incensed, his entire body quivering with fury and hatred._

 _Even though the words and the anger behind them weren't unexpected, Daryl felt his breath hitch and his heart speed up at the hurt they caused. He'd known it was too good to be true. Why was he pretending to be something he wasn't? He didn't deserve to have a friend. His father was right—he was worthless and totally undeserving of having a friend._

 _Tensing his muscles and preparing to flee, Daryl wasn't totally unprepared for the hand that grabbed his right arm roughly, yanking him to his feet and pulling him through the open doorway. Distantly, he noticed his friend sitting on the floor, watching the scene unfold in front of him, but making no effort to stop what was happening. Sighing dejectedly, Daryl Dixon blinked back the tears he felt building. He wasn't no pussy. He wasn't going to cry over this. After all, he'd never had a friend before. Why start now? He didn't deserve one. He was a Dixon, after all._

 _The six-year-old was dragged through the beautiful, quiet house to the front door, which the older boy opened and pushed him through, unceremoniously, with the words "and don't come back here. You stay away from my brother, you hear me? And don't come in this neighborhood again! Now git!"_

 _Standing on the front porch, the young boy could only nod, his throat tight and tears threatening to spill over once more, no matter how hard he tried to stave them off. Watching the door slam shut in his face, Daryl Dixon sighed resignedly as he turned to head home, his usual feelings of worthlessness just confirmed tenfold. He expected nothing different, but it still stung._

Now, years later, those feelings of worthlessness came flooding back as Daryl laid in the bed and focused on all the reasons for why he should just stay there, primary among them the idea that he was completely undeserving of this holiday his friends were trying to give him. The self-hatred he'd always worn like armor reared its ugly head again, washing through his body like a raging river. He was so caught up in convincing himself that it would be in everyone's best interest if the stupid redneck who knew nothing about Christmas just stayed in bed that he was totally oblivious to everything around him.

Intent on hiding himself away, the hunter burrowed further into his bed, trying to make himself smaller. Pulling the covers over his head, he focused on blocking out the world around him, even as he attempted—unsuccessfully—to quell the dark thoughts rampaging through his head. So intent was he in his efforts that the opening of the door and the soft voice calling his name didn't even register in his brain.

Actions


	7. Chapter 7

"Daryl, are you awake?" repeated the voice softly.

Carl.

Still buried under his mount of covers, Daryl contemplated burrowing even further still into them, but then stopped himself. The boy's hopeful and excited tone registered in the hunger's muddled brain and suddenly he realized that even if he, himself, was unsure and nervous about what was to come this morning, he didn't want to disappoint the boy standing on his threshold. With a heavy sigh, he slowly pushed the covers away from his head and began to emerge from his warm cocoon.

Head free, he glanced over at the doorway and saw Carl standing there, a huge smile plastered on his face as he practically bounced up and down in anticipation of the festivities ahead of them. While he couldn't quite bring himself to smile in return, the hunter did at least give the boy a short nod to acknowledge his question.

"I'm awake," he replied quietly. Then with a heavy sigh, "give me a minute and I'll come downstairs."

With a smile and a nod, Carl responded to his friend's statement.

"Sounds good, Daryl. I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."

With that, he was gone, and Daryl could hear the echo of the boy's footsteps as he ran down the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position and allowed himself a moment to stretch, attempting to relieve himself of the stress he could feel throughout his entire body. Pushing the covers back all the way and swinging his legs around, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to calm his nerves before getting ready to face the day. He could do this. Taking a deep breath, he rose and began to prepare for the morning ahead.

Creeping down the stairs in stealthy hunter mode, his side pressed against the wall as he focused on his destination ahead, Daryl could hear the faint strains of music drifting up the stairs. As he got closer, he was able to make out words here and there, as well as the distinct sound of tinkling bells. Stopping for a moment and closing his eyes, he felt the tension leave his body as he listened to the soothing strains of what he recognized as an old Christmas Carol drift up the stairs, though he couldn't quite place the artist. Standing silently for a moment, the hunter willed himself to breathe deeply—in and out, in and out—even as he allowed the peaceful melody to permeate his senses. It proved to be a calming influence and slowly but surely, he felt himself relax.

And then, out of nowhere, the name and artist of the song registered in his brain and he was catapulted back to an unpleasant moment from his childhood for the second time that morning.

 _Creeping down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to be noticed, six-year-old Daryl pressed himself against the dirty wall, moving slowly towards the music coming from the living room. He recognized the song as a popular Christmas Carol, having heard it playing at the school assembly several days ago. What was the song called again? He thought for a moment and then remembered—it had to do with Christmas. It had Christmas in the name. "Christmas" or "Song of Christmas" or….no wait, those weren't right. What was it his teacher had said? Brow furrowed in intense concentration he closed his eyes, trying to remember Mrs. Lawson's words, even as the quiet strains of the song drifted towards him and around him, enveloping him in their calmness. And then he remembered…"The Christmas Song"…that was it._

 _Listening to the soothing music and comforting words, the boy allowed himself a moment to believe in what he'd always heard about, but never experienced—the magic of Christmas. After all, this was a first—Christmas music was not something he'd ever heard in the run-down shack the Dixons called home. Crossing his little fingers tightly and holding his breath almost unconsciously, he crept forward towards the living room, hoping against hope that he would round the corner and see something he'd never experienced…Christmas._

 _Just as he approached the corner, though, and before he could peek around he heard a familiar voice._

" _What the hell?! Who put that **xx on tv? Daryl! Get in here and get me a beer! And you best be fast about it, boy!_

Jolted back to the present, Daryl squeezed his eyes shut even as he focused on calming his suddenly erratic breathing. He remembered, alright. That was one of the most unpleasant Christmases he'd ever experienced, not to say he'd ever really experienced any of them. When he was younger, Christmas was nothing but a day of disappointment. Of hoping and wishing which didn't lead anywhere except to a day like any other, filled with his father's drunken screams and vitriolic temper. This day, the one he associated with the Christmas Carol, was no exception.

It turned out that his father had passed out drunk in front of the television, totally unaware of the Christmas programming broadcasting carols on this day that was so special to so many others. Not to the Dixons, though. Not if his father had anything to say about it. Pressing himself against the wall as hard as he could, Daryl pressed his suddenly shaking fists into his eyes, trying to calm his increasingly erratic breathing, reminding himself that this wasn't real. It was only a memory.

But what a memory. It was a memory he would rather not have because it was a replay of what turned out to be the worst Christmas he'd ever experienced. One of the worst days he'd ever experienced, to be honest. Pressing his fists even harder into his eyes the hunter recalled in vivid images what had happened next.

He'd rounded the corner into the living room and taken in the scene before him. Beer cans, whiskey bottles, and trash littered every available surface. Nothing new, really. But he remembered how his hopes had been dashed so suddenly and how empty he'd felt, even as he walked forward into the room, his little feet moving of their own volition. There was no tree, no presents, no Christmas. It was a usual day at the Dixon house. Lost in his thoughts, he'd paused, trying to push down the disappointment that engulfed him. He even remembered reaching up to wipe away the tears that had appeared suddenly. And that had been enough to send his father on a rampage. Dixons didn't cry, and Dixons didn't do Christmas. End result— Daryl had ended up in the hospital with several broken ribs, a broken leg, and numerous contusions. The story given—he'd fallen down a ravine while disobeying his father and running along the edge. As usual, the staff asked no questions and he didn't contradict his father's statement. What was the use, after all?

Now, jerked back to the present and away from his unpleasant memories, Daryl took a deep breath and calmed himself. This was a different time and place. His father wasn't here, but his family was. And this song didn't have to be associated only with negative actions and memories. Inhaling deeply to calm himself, the hunter came to a decision. Enough with being afraid and uncertain. He'd been given an opportunity this last several years—a fresh start. Today was a part of that and he was going to take advantage of it. So what if he didn't understand it all, or know exactly how to act? The people around him—his family—didn't care. They just wanted to make him happy.

Feeling the heavy weight of the disappointments and horrors of the past lift from his shoulders, and the warmth of acceptance fill his soul, Daryl continued on down the stairs, suddenly excited about the morning and new experiences that were to come.


	8. Chapter 8

_Feeling the heavy weight of the disappointments and horrors of the past lift from his shoulders, and the warmth of acceptance fill his soul, Daryl continued on down the stairs, suddenly excited about the morning and new experiences that were to come._

Reaching the bottom step, he paused for a moment, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself further. Exhaling slowly and squaring his shoulders in resolution, Daryl turned to enter the living room, a flutter of anticipation making itself known deep within.

Slowly entering the room he stopped momentarily, his senses suddenly assaulted by the lights and music and beauty of the festive scene before him. Drinking it in for the second time in as many hours, he raised his eyes to survey the brightly decorated room. The beauty of it all still took his breath away, even having seen it before. It looked like something out of a magazine, or one of those tv shows that portrayed the perfect family celebrating their perfect Christmas. Surveying the room, he took in the happy faces of 'his' family.

With a start—and a sudden rush of warmth—he realized they were all there. Every last one of them. And some of the Alexandrians were even there as well, namely Aaron and Eric. Looking around, he saw the smiles on their faces. Abraham and Eugene. Rosita and Tara. Denise. Glenn and Maggie. Sasha. Father Gabriel. Michonne. Enid. Carl and Judith. Carol. And of course, Rick. The warmth grew and spread throughout his body as he realized they were all there for 'him'. That all of this was for 'him'.

Tentatively, he allowed himself to smile, the sudden realization that he was not defined by his past sweeping through him and almost leaving him breathless. And with that came an unexpected feeling of freedom, as if all the horrors and bad memories of his past were gone, vanished, leaving him a free man at last! He felt lighter than he had in, well, ever as he took a deep breath and prepared to celebrate his first Christmas.

Taking in the festive decorations and his happy friends, he realized they were waiting on his reaction—probably wanting to see if their plan had been a success. Moving his gaze to Carol and then Rick, his heart jumped a bit when he saw the pure, unfiltered happiness shining through in their expressions. Allowing himself the tiniest of smiles, he nodded his head softly, his shaggy brown hair falling to shield his face from those around him, as if he was still afraid to allow those closest to him to really 'see' him for who he was.

Standing there quietly, suddenly unsure of what he was supposed to do, the soft strains of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" playing in the background, he sensed rather than witnessed the movement around him, the excitement in the room palpable. Raising his head just a fraction, he peered through his bangs at the others, shifting from foot to foot to ease the tension that was starting to return.

Just as he was about to address his friends, still unsure of what he was going to say, what was expected of him, they roared, almost in unison, "Merry Christmas, Daryl!"

And again, the tightness and tension rushed from his body as his entire being started to tremble with excitement.

'It's real,' he told himself. 'This is really happening!'

Lifting his head again and shaking it once to remove the hair from his eyes, he allowed the others to see his small smile, proof that their activities were not only welcomed but appreciated. He was filled with gratitude. But, he realized that he still wasn't quite sure what to do, what was expected of him. Shifting to his other foot in an effort to allay another bout of nerves and calm himself, he debated with himself whether he should stay standing where he was or find a seat by one of the others.

Suddenly, before he could make a move, his hand was grasped by another—Carol—who led him over to the only vacant chair in the room, encouraging him to sit. Which he did. Somewhat at a loss, though, he realized that he still really had no idea what he was supposed to do. And he also recognized—for the first time— that there was no shame in saying that…in being transparent about his insecurity and letting the others know.

Clearing his throat quietly, he spoke in his soft, hesitant manner.

"Um….I can't believe y'all did this. For me. Ain't never had no Christmas before."

Looking around the room, unaware of the brilliantly colored lights reflecting in his eyes, causing them to shine a vivid blue, he once again took in the beautifully decorated tree, the stockings hung by the fireplace, the other decorations scattered around the room, and finally, the huge mound of presents under the tree. Realizing the room was silent, even the music becoming even softer in the background, he smiled shyly at his friends once again. His friends who were obviously waiting for him to make the first move—a move which was a mystery to him. It was okay, he told himself. No shame.

"Don't quite know what ta do, ta be honest."

"Daryl, it's Christmas morning so we get to open presents!" Carl almost shouted in excitement, bringing another smile to the hunter's face as he gazed at the teen with affection.

Nodding at the teenager with a smile on her face, Carol looked down at Daryl from her vantage point next to him.

"Yes, presents. And then good food!"

Recognizing that her friend was out of his element and somewhat uncomfortable, she beckoned to Carl to get the process going.

"Carl, why don't you get us started? Do you want to hand out the presents?"

Nodding excitedly, the teen almost leapt out of his chair, diving down to sit on the floor next to the tree. Reaching underneath, he picked up the gaily wrapped package lying on top, smirking at the red, green, and white wrapping paper covered with Santa Clauses. Flipping the tag up, he read the name aloud.

"To: Daryl. From: Santa Claus."

Extending his arm with the gift, Carl handed the present—a small clothing box—to the hunter, who took it tentatively, as if unsure of what came next.

Daryl sat the present on his lap, just staring at it. At the multitude of Santa Clauses with their rosy cheeks and fluffy white beards. At the vibrant red ribbon with the huge—and beautiful—bow. It was almost too beautiful to open. He was hesitant to disturb the beauty of the package. But then, realizing all eyes were on him, he decided to forge ahead, and so hesitantly, began to untie the ribbon.

"You can just rip it…ow," Carl exclaimed as his father jabbed him in the ribs, admonishing him to let their friend take his time and do it his own way.

Gently inserting a finger inside the wrapping paper on the side of the box, Daryl parted it carefully, revealing the white box beneath. Finally, moving the paper to uncover the box, he stopped, the anticipation of what was inside creating a small thrill of excitement deep in his core. This was the first present he'd ever received. The first gift he'd ever opened! Part of him wanted to freeze this moment in time and commemorate it so that this wonderful feeling of anticipation could remain. But, remembering the excitement and eagerness of his friends, he grasped the lid of the box carefully and lifted it up and away, revealing the gift within.


	9. Chapter 9

(From A Christmas Surprise, Chapter 9)

 _The first gift he'd ever opened! Part of him wanted to freeze this moment in time and commemorate it so that this wonderful feeling of anticipation could remain. But, remembering the excitement and eagerness of his friends, he grasped the lid of the box carefully and lifted it up and away, revealing the gift within._

Holding the lid aloft for a moment, as if hesitant to proceed, the hunter gazed at the delicate tissue paper beneath. 'Where did they get white tissue paper?' a small part of his brain questioned, but then he realized that white tissue paper probably wasn't high on the list of priorities during a zombie apocalypse. Catching himself before his thoughts rambled further, he reached down to place the lid on the floor beside himself before reaching in to part the fragile paper in order to reveal the present underneath.

Paper moved, his eyes widened as he realized just what that gift was. Reaching in, he grasped the edge of one of the fingerless gloves and held it aloft. He could feel the soft wool beneath his fingers, the warm brown a neutral color that would blend in nicely with his surroundings when he wore them hunting. And suddenly he realized that whoever had given these gloves to him had intentionally eliminated the fingers so that he could wear them while hunting and tracking. They were made especially for him! Turning them over in his hands and rubbing his thumbs against the soft yarn, Daryl was incredibly touched at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. 'For me,' he thought. Someone made these just for me!

Looking up through the fringe of his hair, his gaze swept the room, wondering who he should thank. Though everyone looked excited and happy—for him—he couldn't tell who might have done this for him. And it was obvious that no one was going to take credit. They all seemed to be sticking to the idea that all his gifts were 'from Santa'. Smiling to himself, his meanderings were cut short when he felt another package nudging his arm. Looking down, he spied yet another gaily wrapped package covered with Santa Clauses. Placing the gloves on the seat beside himself, he took the new package-this one lumpy and misshapen.

More than an hour later, surrounded by colorful wrapping paper, ribbons, and boxes, Daryl allowed himself to relax a bit, leaning back in his chair and surveying his bounty. He couldn't believe it—sitting at his feet was a mound of gifts, all for him. From 'Santa'! Well, from his friends. He knew that. But the illusion to the old guy in the red suit, someone who'd never been part of his own life, was comforting. Comforting because for the first time in his life, the little boy hidden away inside the hunter didn't feel different and unwanted. Because of his friends he'd been given the greatest gift he'd ever received—a real and true Christmas. And it wasn't over! There was much more to come. A tiny thrill of anticipation ran through him as he thought ahead to the Christmas festivities he had to look forward to.

Casting his gaze around the room, he looked at his friends, each with their own presents, though none of the piles was as large as his he noticed with a feeling of warmth inside. This, he realized, was what he'd always seen on tv. A family. A family enjoying Christmas together with the tree and all the decorations, Christmas music playing softly in the background, snow outside, and family and fellowship inside. And the presents! Glancing down at his pile of presents, he shook his head in wonder, still not quite believing this was really happening. The knowledge of all that his friends had done to make this day a reality for him—to give him that traditional Christmas he'd yearned for—warmed him to his very soul.

Seeing the happy smiles on his friends' faces, he didn't realize that they were responding to the expression of delight he, himself, wore on his own face. The usually solemn hunter had no idea that at that moment he truly did look like a child experiencing his first Christmas. All he knew was that so far this had been the best day of his life. Well worth waiting for!

Suddenly, though, he realized that while he knew there was more to come, he didn't quite understand what those things were, or when they would happen. Feeling a tiny flicker of panic start to well up inside him again, the hunter took a deep breath, quelling the emotion before it could take over. _Deep breaths_ , he told himself, over and over, even as he tried his best to follow his own command. _In and out, deep breaths_. There. Sensing that his burgeoning panic was beginning to dissipate, Daryl inhaled deeply one last time, feeling more in control of the situation and chiding himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him—again. At least this time he'd managed to nip it in the bud before it became an issue, even though he sometimes felt as if all that negativity and self-deprecation were always present, just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known.

Glancing around the room he realized that no one was the wiser. He'd calmed himself down, was feeling better, and no one even seemed to realize what had happened. Feeling a bit more confident, he allowed himself to smile tentatively, not noticing the concerned look Carol and Rick sent each other. Not sure what was expected of him now, and what was next on the agenda, he was just preparing to ask when Carl answered his question for him.

"Daryl! Look! It's a _Night of the Living Dead_ _Monopoly_ game. We have 'got' to play. I love this game! It goes on and on and on. And I win a lot so get ready for it! You've got to experience this."

Looking over at the teenager, Daryl scanned the box in his hands. He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the title.

"We don't have to play a game to experience a night of livin' dead. Ain't we been livin' it? Why we gotta play a game to experience it?"

His comment brought laughs from around the room and the hunter felt his remaining tension dissolve. Getting into the spirit of the moment, he continued.

"We can just step outside the walls without our weapons and have our own night of the livin' dead."

Laughing along with the rest of the group, Carl stepped over boxes and wrapping paper as he made his way to the hunter's side. Holding the box closer to his friend, he pointed to various pictures on the lid.

"Look. This is so neat. Instead of houses and hotels you can buy small barricades and large barricades. And you can choose which zombie you want to be. All the pieces represent the different zombies in the film. Even though I never saw it, but I wanted to. A kid at school saw it, but his mom and dad didn't know. Came in and told the rest of us all about it. It sounded so cool."

Shaking his head in amazement, Daryl marveled over the teenager's ability to completely disregard the absurdity of playing a game about a zombie apocalypse in the middle of a real zombie apocalypse. But then he realized that the game was one of Carl's gifts, and that meant that someone actually gave it to him. Laughing to himself, he marveled over the incongruity of the situation.

Rising out of his chair, Daryl took a few steps over to the coffee table before planting himself on the floor.

"Okay, kid. Show me how to play the game." Looking around the room at the others, he pointed to the board Carl had just placed on the surface in front of them. "Anyone want to join us?

Realizing, out of the corner of his eye, that the movement had stopped next to him, he glanced around to see that Carl had stopped in the process of setting up the game and was now staring at him with his mouth open.

"What?"

"Daryl! Are you saying you've never played _Monopoly_? Everyone's played _Monopoly_! It's like…like…like one of the American pastimes. _Monopoly_ and baseball. How can you not know how to play?"

So caught up was he in his tirade, the teenager failed to notice the shuttered expression that suddenly appeared on the hunter's face. The quiet but jovial Daryl of a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by the quiet, guarded Daryl.

"And besides…"

"Carl!"

Stopping midsentence, the teen looked over to his father, recognizing the look of warning being sent his way. Seeming to realize how he'd come across, the boy closed his mouth and ducked his head and it was evident to those present that he was mentally kicking himself for his outburst. Evident to everyone but Daryl, who had ducked his head and was hiding behind his curtain of hair, looking down at the floor in an awkward silence.

Everyone else followed suit, biting their tongues and saying nothing, seeming to all wait and see what the result of Carl's diatribe was going to be. The jovial atmosphere was on hold, as an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Even the music, which had been playing softly in the background came to an end, calling attention to the sudden lack of conversation. For a moment, no one seemed to know what to do, whether or not they should say anything to fill the uncomfortable quiet of the room. Daryl still sat silently, head down, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he visibly tried to control his breathing and his emotions.

"Daryl…"

Carol.

"Hey, don't pay attention to Carl."

Rick.

He knew they meant well, but their good intentions didn't matter at that moment. All Daryl could consider was that his initial fears were well-founded. Carl was right. Who didn't know how to play a simple board game? He didn't, that's who. Daryl Dixon, redneck trash. Hell, he'd never owned a game in his life and he was certainly never asked to play one with any of the kids he went to school with. To them he was 'trashy Dixon'—someone to avoid. And growing up, the kids in his neighborhood weren't the type to play board games of any kid. And even if they were, they wouldn't have invited him to play anyway. He was one of the Dixons and people avoided the Dixons like the plague.

Sensing himself suddenly drowning in negative emotions, the hunter continued to sit still as a stone, convincing himself that maybe this had all been a mistake after all. So consumed was he with negativity about his various failings and inadequacies, he didn't even feel the warmth of the hand that was suddenly on his shoulder, squeezing gently.


End file.
